


Alone

by Locknkey1



Series: Eye of the Beholder [3]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Angst, Depression, F/M, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Implied Charlos/Cecil, Implied/Referenced Attempted Suicide, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, No Beta, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love, kevin is sad, selective mutism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:46:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21612475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Locknkey1/pseuds/Locknkey1
Summary: When Carlos left, Kevin didn't cry or scream or break down. His fall was slow and very, very quiet.
Relationships: Kevin (Welcome to Night Vale) & Original Female Character(s), Kevin (Welcome to Night Vale)/Original Female Character(s), One-Sided Carlos/Kevin (Welcome to Night Vale)
Series: Eye of the Beholder [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1553263
Comments: 3
Kudos: 30





	Alone

**Author's Note:**

> I am new to writing for fanfiction and new to the WTNV fandom. I have no beta. As such all mistakes are mine (but if asked I will blame Grammarly for not catching them.)

The former Voice of Strex sat silently on a medium-sized sized granite rock. Despite his heavy attire, he did not seem bothered by the oppressive heat. Occasionally, as the sun slowly spun in endless, ever-changing circles, the man would be granted relief from the sun from the shadow of a strangely-shaped cactus. As he watched over a small almost town, the Voice did not move, or speak, or even smile. 

After Carlos left, Kevin was lonely. Besides the masked army -that refused to acknowledge him- and the mindless former Desert Bluffians, the desert was empty. Even the helpful (painful) voices that always reminded him to be productive and happy, so so happy, endlessly happy, were gone. Being alone in his head was a new experience for the former radio host. He couldn't remember the last time all the thoughts in his head were his alone. 

The desert was silent. Well, almost silent, every few hours the sound of war cries and thundering footsteps would suddenly begin, then abruptly cease. The army of masked warriors did not speak, aloud at least. Even if they did, they would not have spoken to the man who made Carlos leave. Most of the traumatized Desert Bluffians didn't say anything. The few who did talk mindlessly spouted Strexcorp advertisements. Kevin didn't speak to them. It was hard to converse with a person who always smiled but looked like they wanted to cry. The first, and only, time the (former) Voice attempted to talk to one of those empty souls, it did not go well. 

(Her name was Charlie. She grew up across the street and two houses down the right from Kevin's childhood home. Charlie was two years older than Kevin. She was also his first crush. When he was ten, he would send her handwritten letters on bright yellow paper folded into adorable little origami figurines. When Charlie learned who sent the letters, she turned Kevin down gently, offering him a small box of candied camellias and a gentle smile. They became friends five years later. Every year afterward, Charlie would give Kevin a camellia and a kiss on the cheek for his birthday. She would laugh and flash a huge smile, a true one uncorrupted by Strex when the birthday boy would blush a bright pink.

After Strexcorp took over, Kevin never saw Charlie again.

But then in that strange, cruel Desert Otherworld, Kevin saw her wandering through the desert a few days before he met Carlos and the masked army of giants. She was still in her strex issued grey with yellow pockets uniform. Kevin was so happy to see a familiar face that he walked right up to his former crush. When he greeted her with a big Strex approved smile, she screamed and started crying, begging him not to kill her. She didn't stop even after Kevin hid behind a cactus fifty meters away. As Charlie slowly walked away from the Voice's hiding spot, he could still hear her hiccuping sobs. 

It was hard for Kevin to keep smiling after that.)

For the first two weeks after Carlos left, Kevin kept up his running commentary on everything interesting. Some times he would forget and would glance over his shoulder, expecting to see an adorable scientist distractedly walking behind him, scribbling notes in an ever-present book. Every time his one-sided friend failed to reappear in the billowing sand, Kevin would stop talking for a short while. Over time, the pauses between the former radio host's long rambling discourses got longer and longer. Finally, after several lonely weeks, the Voice stopped talking (and smiling) completely. 

(Is a Voice still a Voice if they do not speak and there is no one there to listen?)

The tiny town that they made, with its ice cream parlor, and beach resort hotel and spa, was slowly falling apart. The little radio station that Kevin made for Carlos/Cecil/himself had stood abandoned ever since its inaugural broadcast. Even the unstoppable rollercoaster eventually stopped. An impossibly black bunny-like monster devoured several of the structural support beams in a fit of anger before placidly hopping into the distance. The ride only lasted two more rounds of screaming before if fell. The only section of the town that had not succumbed to the endless desert was the Neighborhood of Masked Warriors. Between bouts of war, the masked army maintained their houses pretty well. They even had a Homeowners Association. The giants paid their HOA fees with the blood and severed appendages of the other masked armies. 

The desert was devastatingly empty. The only visible landmark was the endlessly foreboding mountain with its blinking red lighthouse. Sometimes Kevin would get lost wandering endlessly through that unforgiving desert. He would spend days, weeks, months, trudging across burning hot and blindingly bright sand. He would always come back to that broken down almost town, whether he wanted to or not. The first time Kevin went on this aimless pilgrimage was five weeks after Carlos had left. He didn't bring anything with him, no food, no water, no knives. (Carlos hated his knives.) He wanted to get away from all the haunting memories that lived in that almost town. The former radio host walked for days, weeks, months (it could have been longer, time was irrelevant in the Desert Otherworld. On the third day of the third month of his wandering, the former radio host found a bottomless sinkhole. Kevin stared into the depths of that abyss for hours and quietly confessed all his unwilling sins and useless hopes. Kevin looked behind him one more time, then, disappointed but not surprised, he stepped down into the abyss. 

Hours, days, weeks later, he woke up on a dune one hundred meters from the town that could have been. Again he was disappointed but not surprised. After all, mortality was not a gift the former radio host possessed. 

Then, the man who loved a scientist who did not, could not, would _never_ love him, slowly walked across the winding dunes that circled a small broken town. When he reached his destination, he sat slowly, heavily back down on to a medium-sized sized rock. Occasionally, as the sun slowly spun in endless, ever-changing circles, the man would be granted relief from the sun from the shadow of a strangely-shaped cactus.

**Author's Note:**

> I am so sorry Kevin.


End file.
